


a heart that's on loan

by smilebackwards



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Communication Failure, Developing Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining, No Saviors, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 15:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilebackwards/pseuds/smilebackwards
Summary: Aaron and Daryl discover Hilltop on one of their scouting trips and find that the community has an interesting throwback custom for establishing alliances: marriage.





	a heart that's on loan

Aaron and Daryl are further northwest of Alexandria than they’ve ever gone before when they see it. A wide circle of tall poles set into the ground; a wall. There’s a dirt road with tire tracks that Daryl wouldn’t put at more than a week old leading up to it.

“What do you think?” Aaron asks with barely concealed excitement.

Daryl’s not sure how to respond. It looks promising all right, but Aaron never saw Terminus. It’s the people who might be inside that matter, not the place, the external trappings. Still. “Worth a look,” Daryl says. This is their job, finding people, and there’s never any kind of guarantee.

They get all the way up to the front door without being shot at which is something at least. The gates are made of corrugated iron, not dissimilar to the walls of Alexandria. Daryl wonders if they found the same supply depot. 

There’s no guard at the top of the wall. The hell are they supposed to do, knock?

Aaron cups his hands around his mouth. “Hello?”

There’s a scrabbling noise and a “shit” behind the walls before a face crests the top. “Hey.”

Daryl can’t believe this bullshit. At least idiocy is better than malice. “Hey,” Daryl says, sarcastic. “Can we come inside an’ talk to y’all?”

“Oh, sure,” the guy says and opens the gates, easy as that. 

Daryl shares a glance with Aaron. It doesn’t seem like a trap, although that might just mean it’s a good one. Daryl keeps his crossbow up and at the ready as the gates swing inward and they step through. 

“Hey,” the guard says again, once he’s climbed down from the structure built up against the inside of the wall. “I’m Kal.”

“Aaron,” Aaron says, reaching out to shake Kal’s hand. “And this is Daryl. We’re from Alexandria.”

Daryl tips his chin at Kal in acknowledgement but doesn’t offer his hand. He lowers his crossbow enough for it to be heart rather than eye level, as much concession as he’s willing to allow for the moment.

“Welcome to the Hilltop,” Kal says. “I’ll take you up to Barrington House and you can talk to Gregory.”

“This is amazing,” Aaron says, looking around at the scattered FEMA trailers, the people washing laundry and playing cards and walking from place to place. “We haven’t found other settlements like this before. It’s usually just occasional travellers on the road.”

Nobody is visibly carrying anything more than knives. Daryl lets himself relax, just a little, and look around more closely. 

There are plots of land for gardening. Window boxes full of vegetables and crates full of watermelons. Chickens fluttering in a coop. Somewhere behind one of the ramshackle wooden buildings, Daryl hears a cow lowing. There’s nothing flashy about it, but as far as sustainability goes, it’s practically the El Dorado of the apocalypse.

Kal opens the white double doors of Barrington House and it’s like stepping into a completely different place, all glass and mirrors. Daryl’s boots sink a quarter inch into a plush Persian rug thrown over polished wooden flooring. 

“Wow,” Aaron says, neck craning to look up at the chandelier.

“Nice, right?” Kal says. “Dante,” he says to a guy standing in front of another set of doors, “can you let these guys in to see Gregory?”

“Sure,” Dante nods, rapping his knuckles against the doors perfunctorily before pulling them open. Kal turns to go. Daryl hopes he’s going to stay on the gate this time.

Daryl catalogues the room before he enters. Some kind of study. Two full walls are bookcases, lined with faded hardbacks. Daryl can’t make out the gold-leaf gilded titles but they look like mostly encyclopedias and law books. Andrea might have appreciated them. 

Gregory sits behind an expansive mahogany desk, backlit by a wide picture window. He’s older than most people who’ve made it this long. Sparse grey hair covers his head and he’s wearing an immaculate linen suit, in stark contrast to the people in the community outside in patched, practical clothing as they tend the gardens and livestock. When he stands up to greet them, his smile is slick and false. 

Aaron told Daryl he wanted Daryl with him because he was good at reading people. What Daryl reads from Gregory is velvet-gloved arrogance. 

Aaron introduces them again and launches into his spiel about Alexandria, pulling the photos of the shored up walls and the solar panels and the central quad area out of his pack.

Gregory flips through the photographs slowly. His eyes linger on the solar panels. “Dante, would you go fetch Marsha?” Gregory says. 

Daryl wonders if there’s a council here like they used to have back at the prison. He hopes someone else gets a say in things other than this jackass.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve seen a little of what we have here at the Hilltop,” Gregory says importantly, “and you seem to have something to offer in return. We’ve established a certain...custom related to alliances and trade.” He makes a circular forward motion with his left hand. “An old custom really.”

Daryl doesn’t like the sound of this. “What?” he says, because it’s always better to get things over with quick. Gregory seems like the kind of person that could beat around the bush for hours.

“Marriage,” Gregory says, like it ought to have been obvious. “One representative from the Hilltop and one from the community that wants to establish an alliance.”

“Marriage,” Daryl says, flatly. “And they live here, right?” A thinly veiled hostage.

“Yes,” Gregory says. “It’s working out quite well with our representative from the Kingdom.”

Another community to sweeten the pot. Daryl glances at Aaron to check if the Kingdom is someplace he already knows about. Aaron shakes his head.

“So?” Gregory says, looking to Aaron.

Aaron’s eyes go wide. 

“He’s already married,” Daryl says, shutting that down. No amount of carrots and cows is worth enough to break up what Aaron and Eric have.

Of course that means Gregory looks to Daryl next. 

“We’d get food?” Daryl clarifies. “Eggs and vegetables and some of them watermelons?” It’s been a long damn time since anyone’s had real fresh fruit and not the occasional crabapple and syrupy cocktail shit out of cans. They don’t need to be courting old timey diseases like scurvy along with everything else. 

“We’ll establish trade,” Gregory says, which isn’t the same as a yes.

There’s a knock on the door before Daryl can press for better particulars. It ought to be Rick or Maggie, someone with a head for things like this, negotiating it anyhow.

The door opens and it’s Dante again, but this time with a slight blonde woman. Marsha that Gregory had asked for presumably. Her body language is hesitant. Not a council member then. Considering what Gregory just said about a marriage alliance, Daryl’s pretty sure he knows where she fits into the equation.

“Wonderful. Thank you, Dante,” Gregory says. He motions Marsha to a high-backed chair without a word.

“Daryl,” Aaron says, urgently, “you don’t have to do this.”

Daryl’s seen the pantry back at Alexandria. It’s not enough. And they can’t rely on scavenging forever. It’s been long enough since the world ended that even some things in cans are starting to go off. 

Daryl knows what it’s like to be hungry, to watch his family starving. He’d pay any price not to see it again. Besides, a marriage like this doesn’t have to mean anything; it’s just words, just a symbol. Wasn’t like Daryl was holding out hope for some kind of fairytale romance anyhow.

The doors to the study burst open again forcefully. The man that strides in is the opposite of hesitant. His eyes, shockingly blue, sweep the room. “Gregory, what are you doing?” He says it with the air of something that’s been repeated often.

Gregory looks irritated. “I’m negotiating an alliance with these fine people from Alexandria.”

The man turns to Daryl and Aaron. Daryl feels like he’s being x-rayed. “I’m Paul Rovia,” the man says. 

“You Gregory’s second?” Daryl asks.

Paul looks taken aback. “No, I’m—” He pauses. 

Daryl knows what that feels like. Their group never really established a hierarchy past Rick being the leader. Daryl, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, they could all step up to Rick’s side depending on the issue. 

The difference here seems to be that Gregory doesn’t _want_ Paul’s input. Marsha on the other hand has perked up, shoulders straightening.

“You can’t just decide to marry people to each other,” Paul says to Gregory.

“This set up is working out fine for Jerry and Cara,” Gregory says, dismissive.

“Jerry and Crystal,” Paul corrects. “And that’s because they fell in love. You can’t force that. A happy ending isn’t just going to happen for every random couple you pick.”

Gregory’s voice is cold. “How we handle alliances isn’t your call.”

“And whether Marsha marries some stranger isn’t yours,” Paul says. He spreads his hands in entreaty. “At least let me put myself forward as a candidate.”

Gregory looks condescendingly amused. “Fine. We’ll let our guest choose.” He turns to Daryl. “Who would you prefer?”

Paul smiles at Daryl, coy. Daryl can see it for the lie it is. It’s the kind of thing Carol would have done, if it had been her and Maggie or any of the other women back at Alexandria put in this position. She’d have thrown herself on the grenade.

Daryl doesn’t want to be taken like a bullet, but Marsha is looking at him with something between trepidation and outright fear, and Daryl wants that even less. It’s barely a choice.

“Him,” he says, nodding to Paul.

Aaron glances sideways at Daryl. Marsha looks visibly relieved, which is what really matters. Daryl doesn’t take it personal. He knows what he looks like, the rough cut redneck, and it’s not inaccurate.

Daryl watches Paul’s face flash through a series of emotions: surprise, calculation, a smugness that Daryl finds oddly endearing. “Great, then it’s settled,” Paul says, and reaches for Daryl’s hand.

Paul has clean fingernails and a firm grip. His brown hair falls in a model-like sweep. 

Daryl feels suddenly aware of all the ways in which he’s lacking. His knuckles are raw and his nail beds are black. There’s dirt streaking his forearms, burn scars up his wrists. He’s wearing a shirt with ripped off sleeves and he hasn’t changed it in three days.

He drops Paul’s hand like it’s hot, instead of warm and soft and inexplicably comfortable.

Gregory’s smile is sour. He’s gotten what he wanted, but not in the way he wanted it. “Fine,” he says. “Congratulations on your engagement. Daryl, we’d like you stay and get acclimated to Hilltop.” He says it like Daryl has a choice but Daryl can tell the deal hinges on his agreement. “Aaron, if you can arrange for some of the Alexandria leadership to travel here, we can discuss some trade details before the marriage is finalized.”

Aaron pulls Daryl over to the corner of the room. “I’ll be back soon,” Aaron promises, putting a grounding hand on Daryl’s shoulder. Daryl wonders if that’s something he picked up from Rick. “We’ll figure something else out. You don’t— You don’t have to go through with this.”

“S’ all right if I do,” Daryl tells him. “Tell Rick what they got here.”

Gregory gives Aaron a crate of watermelons as a token of good faith and Daryl watches Aaron load it into the car and raise a hand to wave goodbye before he drives off, back to Alexandria. 

Beside Daryl, Paul is quiet. Daryl wonders if what he’s signed up for is starting to sink in. He takes Daryl gently by the wrist, thumb over his suddenly hammering pulse, and tugs him toward one of the FEMA trailers.

Inside, the trailer is shoebox small but Daryl finds it somehow less constricting than the cavernous mansions in Alexandria. It reminds him of Dale’s camper with it’s worn, faded charm.

“Can I use your shower?” Daryl asks. He doesn’t want Paul to offer it to him first, a not so subtle hint.

“Oh, sure,” Paul says. “You’re welcome to anything in here, no need to ask.” He hands Daryl a threadbare towel.

Daryl stands in the tiny shower cube and watches the water running off his body turn black with dirt. Maybe there had been something more than joking to Carol’s threats to hose him down. 

Paul has three different types of soap. Daryl picks up the one in a green bottle. It smells like pine and cedar. Daryl feels obscurely pleased that Paul likes the woodsy scent. Although, maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe it was just what was left in some abandoned house or looted drug store.

“I’m sorry Gregory’s doing this to you,” Paul says, once Daryl’s redressed and stepped back into the main portion of the trailer.

“He’s doin’ it to you too,” Daryl points out as he towels his hair dry. He should probably get it cut. It’s been awhile.

“I volunteered,” Paul says, a generous viewpoint on what happened.

“So did I,” Daryl says. “Don’t got to be more than what we make it. I don’t expect nothin’ from you. If you got somebody already, I won’t get in the way.”

Paul smiles, humorless. “I don’t. I was never very good at getting close to people.”

“Me neither,” Daryl says, but he wonders if that’s still true. He’s got a whole family now. That took effort on both sides. He and Paul, maybe they could do that too. Meet halfway.

“Look at us,” Paul says. His smile has started to turn real. “Something in common already.”

Daryl smiles back, tentative, his heart swooping strangely. 

-

“This is my fiancé, Daryl,” Paul says, when he starts to introduce Daryl around. “He’s from Alexandria. They’re going to ally with us.”

A big guy with a full black beard and a crinkle-eyed smile beams at Daryl. “You’re a rep from another community? Oh man, me too!”

“Jerry’s from the Kingdom,” Paul explains. 

Daryl nods, remembering the exchange with Gregory. Jerry and Crystal, the couple that fell in love. Daryl looks at Paul and swallows around a sudden lump in his throat.

Paul reels off names as other people drift toward them, curious: Earl, Craig, Stephanie, Perla, Kishane, Eduardo. Marsha smiles at Daryl now that she no longer has reason to be afraid of him and he nods back at her.

“Jerry!” a guy calls from over by the animal pens. “Can you come help me with this?” He’s holding a wooden beam, balanced against the ground.

“Oh, totally!” Jerry says, jogging over. Over his shoulder, he yells back. “Nice to meet you, Daryl! Later, Jesus!” He says Jesus like it’s a name and not an exclamation.

“Jesus?” Daryl asks.

“Something my friends used to call me,” Paul says, and Daryl gets it. He’s not a friend; he’ll stick to Paul.

What terrifies Daryl about the Hilltop is how utterly unafraid everyone is. Daryl thinks the people here might know that they’re rich, but not that they need to protect it. They walk around behind their walls like nothing can touch them. Daryl’s seen two handguns and twenty bullets, total, in the entire place. Spears are all well and good for walkers, but if people with guns ever come here, they’re straight up fucked. Alexandria and their armory could take it, easy.

Daryl genuinely wonders if they’re growing weed in the community garden beside the cabbage and cucumbers, but so far he hasn’t found any. They’ve just been lucky as all hell. The worst thing that seems to have happened here is what people have apparently taken to calling The Great Plumbing Incident of Three Months Ago.

“Don’t ask, man,” Nathan advises. “No one wants to relive that.”

_That’s what you don’t want to relive?_ Daryl wants to spit.

Swallowing it feels like poison but Daryl thinks it might be worse to have to see the looks on people’s faces if he told them about how the Governor rolled up to the prison with a tank, how Lori had to have Judith cut out of her, how sweet, kind Beth got shot through the head by someone she ought to have been able to trust. 

Daryl walks away. The best mercy he can give to anyone, himself included.

He ends up sitting down on a patch of grass behind Paul’s trailer. His and Paul’s trailer now maybe. There’s a fine tremor running through this hands. It happens sometimes when he thinks about all the shit that’s gone down, all the people they lost. Daryl shakes out his wrists. 

It hits him suddenly that he’s really going to stay here, with all these new people who don’t share a history. Probably none of them have ever been to Georgia. None of them were at the prison. None of them will know who he means if he ever lets himself say Beth or Hershel or Merle or anyone on the whole goddamn list of their dead. 

“Hey,” Paul says, and Daryl starts. Guy moves like a damn silent ninja. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says, because he doesn’t know how to say anything else. He wants a cigarette. Something to do with his hands.

Paul sits down beside him, shoulder close but not quite touching. “I was on my own for six months before I came here,” he says, quiet.

Daryl looks at him out of the corner of his eye. Six months is a long time. Not so long as Daryl’s family has been out on the road, in fits and starts, but the _alone_ ups the intensity by a good fifty percent. It was usually people they found alone who’d “opted out” as that dick Jenner at the CDC would have said.

“Yeah?” Daryl says.

“Yeah,” Paul says. He sounds weary to the bone. Daryl doesn’t need any stories. He can tell from that one flat word that Paul saw some shit out on the road that most of the people here probably can’t imagine. 

Daryl shifts over so their shoulders press together and Paul does the same, leaning back. Daryl doesn’t like to think of what Paul had to go through but he feels better to know that at least one person here understands what things are really like in the world now: If you’re lucky, you’ll get a shallow grave. If you’re loved, you’ll get a deep one.

Daryl presses his hands, steady now, to the earth and pushes himself up to his feet. He offers a hand and pulls Paul up too. Daryl thinks they both take a few seconds longer than necessary to let go and he’s not quite sure what that means.

“Come on,” Paul says. “I’ll show you the cows.”

-

It’s been two days and Aaron’s not back like he promised. 

Daryl feels an itch under his skin. Alexandria is less than forty miles away. The only reasons Daryl can come up with why Aaron’s not back yet with Maggie or whoever they decide is best suited is that they got into trouble on the road or something important is happening back in Alexandria. Neither is comforting but if they want to hang onto the chance of alliance with Hilltop, Daryl can’t just go haring back home. 

He also can’t sit here doing nothing, he’ll go straight up crazy. “Hey,” he yells up to Kal, who thankfully is properly manning the gate today, “Let me out. I’m goin’ hunting.”

Daryl can’t quite make out Kal’s expression, but his voice is incredulous when he says, “You want to go _out?_ ”

“S’ what I said,” Daryl snips back. Don’t nobody even leave the walls here?

“Okay…” Kal says. He opens the gates slowly, reluctant.

Daryl squeezes out through the gap as soon as his shoulders will fit. Once he’s outside, he feels like he can breathe a little better. He’s under the same blue sky, but it’s different to be penned inside a hundred thousand square feet of land than to be able to see the horizon for miles in every direction.

He spends a few hours tracking. It’s easy to shoot a half dozen squirrels, though he’d like to bring back something bigger. More impressive. 

There are dogwood trees blooming. 

Daryl stares at the white flowers. It’s no Cherokee rose, but Daryl doesn’t know if he has that kind of hope left in him anyway. He cuts off a small branch and tucks it through the side of his belt away from the squirrels so no blood will get on the petals. Maybe it’ll turn out Paul isn’t a flower person, but he’s gonna marry the guy, Daryl figures he ought to at least _try._

He gives up on getting a deer about an hour later. Evening is starting to fall and as much as Daryl likes to be outside the walls, he doesn’t particularly want to be outside them at night.

It’s Eduardo on the wall now and he shouts to someone when Daryl comes into view and starts opening the gates right away. Daryl’s going to need to teach these people some safety tips. Only opening the gates when someone’s close enough to come inside. A password for any kind of duress. They use ‘Governor’ back in Alexandria.

Eduardo and a few others crowd around when Daryl unslings the squirrels from his shoulder. “You caught squirrels? That’s awesome, man! You’re awesome!” Jerry crows, clapping Daryl on the back. 

Daryl’s noticed that enthusiasm is Jerry’s default attitude but the rest of the people look pretty dang excited too. Daryl figures for all the chickens and cows they got, they’re not about to use many of them for one-time meat when they can count on continuous eggs and milk. That’s smart at least.

Paul has appeared at the edge of the circle surrounding Daryl, drawn by the small crowd. “Daryl? You went outside the walls? By yourself?” He looks like he might be upset about it but Daryl can’t tell what kind of upset. Anger or worry or annoyance. 

Daryl doesn’t want to see any kind of upset on Paul’s face. “Not far,” he says. “Just a little ways into the woods for some huntin’. That not okay?” He set a few snares that he wants to check on later.

“What?” Paul says. “Oh, no, I mean of course it’s okay. You’re not a prisoner here. I was just concerned. Take me with you next time.”

Worry then. Not good, but the best option. Daryl feels warmed by Paul’s concern and the implied offer of company and a next time. He takes the dogwood branch off his belt and holds it out awkwardly. 

Paul takes it carefully. His smile is slow and warm. “You brought me flowers?” 

Daryl nods, glancing away. “Just thought of ya is all,” he says. He probably should have waited until they were alone to give them to Paul. Now everybody is looking at them with teasing smiles, like Daryl just asked Paul to prom or some shit.

Still, it feels worth it when Paul says, with his smiling mouth and serious eyes, “Thank you, Daryl.”

-

Aaron finally comes back on day three. Rick, Glenn and Maggie are with him. 

Daryl can tell right away that something’s gone down. Everyone is keeping their eyes half on Rick and acting extra deferential to him, like he needs handling.

Rick puts a hand on Daryl’s shoulder and pulls him in for a hug. “You okay, brother?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Daryl says, slowly. “You?” There’s a splotch of red below Rick’s jawbone.

“Yeah,” Rick says. “Yeah, I’m all right.”

Daryl doesn’t find it very convincing. There’s something manic about Rick’s eyes. Daryl had expected Aaron to bring Maggie as the liaison but Rick must have done something pretty crazy for them to want him away from Alexandria for a while.

_Later,_ Glenn mouths from over Rick’s shoulder. 

Paul is watching the byplay with bright, curious eyes and Daryl pulls him forward, front and center. “This is Paul,” he says. 

“Welcome to the Hilltop,” Paul says, all charm. Daryl hopes it balances out some of the abrasive haggling that’s bound to go down with Gregory.

“You the one who’s gonna talk trade with Gregory?” Daryl asks Maggie.

Maggie nods. “I am,” she confirms. “Deanna assigned me to be her deputy.”

“He’s an asshole,” Daryl tells her. Maggie can handle herself but he wants her to know going in. Daryl doesn’t trust Gregory as far as he can throw him and the balance of power is going to fall in Hilltop’s favor. Alexandria has luxuries. Hilltop has necessities.

Maggie grins, sharp. “Well, you know how I like a challenge.”

Daryl thinks she’ll be just fine.

“Paul and me already agreed to be the community representatives,” Daryl says. He hopes Aaron told them about the whole marriage requirement. 

Glenn looks concerned. “They don’t really want you to stay here all the time, do they?”

Maggie purses her lips. “I’ll talk to Gregory about it. A marriage is a ridiculous condition for a trade agreement.” She puts a soft hand on Daryl arm.

Daryl appreciates that his family loves him, but they’re not in a position to play hardball. He trusts Maggie to be practical when it comes down to it. 

Paul takes them around on a tour. He offers a precise count of all the crops and livestock and stores, the influx of goods they get from the Kingdom every month, the people and professions represented: doctor, blacksmith, farmers, guards. He doesn’t hold anything back and Daryl can see Maggie totalling it all up, weighing what Alexandria needs and can offer in return. 

“Do you want to know anything else?” Paul asks. 

Maggie shakes her head, a set expression on her face. “Just where to find Gregory.”

The group splits apart. Maggie and Paul to Barrington. Aaron and Rick to the blacksmith to check out the weaponry. Daryl takes Glenn back to his and Paul’s trailer.

“Spill,” he says. “What’s goin’ on with Rick?”

Glenn sits down on the bench seat where Daryl and Paul have been trading off sleeping every night because Paul is the kind of host that offers his bed and Daryl is the kind of guest that feels rude taking it so they’d had to compromise. Glenn’s voice is quiet but he looks Daryl straight in the eye when he says, “Rick killed somebody in Alexandria.”

_How many people have you killed?_ Rick’s answer for question number two has just gone up. “Who?” Daryl asks. 

“Pete,” Glenn says. “Jessie’s husband.”

Alexandria’s doctor. That ain’t great. Question three: “Why?”

“He was hitting Jessie. Their sons too,” Glenn says, softly. “We had a community meeting about it and he came at Rick with a knife.”

Daryl thinks about Carol, in the beginning, when there were new bruises. And now, the fissures and papered over cracks that linger. The scars on his back itch. “Good riddance,” Daryl says. He’d spit on the ground if they were outside.

“The people here...,” Glenn says, “Are they good?”

Daryl thinks about the past few days; Jerry’s easily offered friendship, Earl sharpening Daryl’s knife at the forge, Perla who’d given him spare clothes that Daryl could tell had once belonged to somebody she cared about. Daryl doesn’t know that he’d say the people of Hilltop are strong. Not most of them anyway. But— 

“Yeah,” he says. “I think they’re pretty good.”

Gregory is probably the exception to that of course and Daryl’s not surprised when Maggie comes out of Barrington, half an hour later, spitting mad. She storms over to where Daryl, Glenn, Rick and Aaron have been half-heartedly playing poker on the steps of the trailer to pass the time. Yael had brought them the pack of cards that get passed around by some kind of lot system. 

“That _man_ ,” Maggie says, “is completely unreasonable.”

Daryl nods. “Total bastard.” Paul is nowhere to be seen which Daryl assumes means he’s still in Barrington, trying to talk Gregory into being less of a dick.

“He wants half our medical supplies for their bumper crop of zucchini and corn. And,” she glances at Daryl, “he won’t agree to anything until the marriage happens.”

“Somebody else might be willing to be our representative,” Rick suggests. Daryl notices that Rick doesn’t offer himself, which says a lot about how close he is to finally acknowledging the thing going on between him and Michonne.

Daryl doesn’t want to put this on somebody else. “I ain’t— I ain’t _upset_ about it,” he says. “Paul’s a good guy.” Daryl’s always had a gift for understatement. 

“Really?” Maggie says. “You like him?” She looks like she thinks Daryl is just giving her an easy out, so she won’t have to make another hard choice in this hard world.

“Yeah,” Daryl says. Maggie should know he’s never been much good at lying. Never saw much cause for it. “He’s better’n I deserve. And they got things we need here. Food. Connections. Winter ain’t far off, we gotta start thinkin’ about it.” Winter in Virginia isn’t going to be like winter in Georgia, Daryl knows that much. And even winter in Georgia nearly killed them.

Daryl has other reasons too. Less altruistic reasons that have nothing to do with food and self-sacrifice and everything to do with the way Paul smiles at him sometimes. He ought to admit as much, ease everyone’s minds, but it took a lot for Daryl to admit it even to himself. He’s not ready to talk about it.

He is ready to go through with this though. Daryl’s always preferred actions to words.

Aaron offers to go get Gabriel to perform the ceremony, but apparently Earl got an online ordination before the world ended and it’s not like there’s any real legal or religious structure left anyhow. Glenn and Maggie got married without no ceremony or words and as far as Daryl’s concerned, they’re the gold standard.

Daryl marries Paul on the steps of Barrington House, in the cleanest shirt he could find, with Rick standing up for him. 

Doc Carson is flanking Paul and most of the rest of the Hilltop’s residents are arrayed around them in a semicircle. Aaron dug up a tie from somewhere and Maggie has flowers tucked into her hair. Glenn’s got a Polaroid camera trained on everyone. Daryl promised him one picture. 

It _feels_ like a wedding, and not a funeral like it might have.

Daryl had tried to give Paul one last out beforehand. “You sure you’re okay with goin’ through with this?” Daryl had asked. Alexandria were the ones who’d be reaping most of the benefits of the situation at Paul’s expense. It felt discourteous.

Paul had looked at him with an expression Daryl couldn’t quite read. “Yes,” he’d said. “I’m sure.”

Earl recites the words from memory. "Do you, Daryl Dixon, take Paul Rovia for your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?" 

Til death do them part hardly seems like so much of a commitment anymore, but Daryl means it when he promises something. “Yeah,” Daryl says. 

Paul looks amused. He doesn’t suppress his smile.

"And do you, Paul Rovia, take Daryl Dixon for your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?"

“I do,” Paul says. 

That’s the right response, Daryl realizes. Even if he hasn’t been to a wedding in decades, he should have at least remembered that much. _‘Yeah._ ’ God, he wants to punch himself in the _face._

Paul found an actual damn tuxedo somewhere. He looks like the perfect groom on a cake topper and his hands are warm in Daryl’s and Daryl doesn’t deserve any of this but he’s still gonna take it. 

“You may kiss the groom,” Earl says. 

Daryl waits to see if Paul will lean forward first, maybe press a quick kiss against his jaw.

Paul does lean forward, but the kiss he presses on Daryl isn’t to his cheek. Daryl’s mouth falls open in surprise and he wonders if he’s imagining the quick flick of Paul’s tongue. It’s over before he can be sure. His lips tingle like the aftermath of a static shock. 

Glenn whistles and there’s the click of a camera. 

Glenn gives Daryl the photo later, while the others get ready to head back to Alexandria, loading crates of vegetables and carefully packed eggs into the trunk of the SUV they drove. 

Daryl looks at the curve of Paul’s smile. It doesn’t look false. “Thought you were gonna take it back with you,” Daryl says. “T’ show to Carol and everybody.”

“I took two,” Glenn admits. “I thought you might like a copy.”

Daryl hums. He does want it and he’s not entirely sure why.

Daryl holds the picture in one hand, tight, but not enough to crumple, as he watches his family drive away from him. 

-

Things start to settle into a routine. It’s a little like how things used to be when the Atlanta group was on the Greene’s farm, always plenty of chores to go around. Daryl helps to harvest a new crop of corn and teaches Paul about tracking and snares. 

They do finally catch a deer on one hunting trip and Daryl and Paul take turns carrying it back to the Hilltop on their shoulders. Everyone smiles and cheers them but Daryl feels a hollowness inside his chest. He wants to talk to Carol, to go on a scavenging run with Glenn and Michonne. He misses his family, people who know him. If he wants that at Hilltop, Daryl’s going to have to start from the ground up. He thinks he might have forgotten the growing pains that came with that.

“You like it here?” Daryl asks Jerry, the person closest able to understand his situation.

“Oh hells yeah,” Jerry says. “I mean,” he clears his throat, “The Hilltop is a valued ally and the support and sustenance they provide to the Kingdom is a true boon in these perilous times.” 

Daryl’s noticed Jerry’s language swings wildly back and forth between some kind of renaissance fair formal and extreme colloquial, but he says what he means and he has a huge axe. As far as Daryl’s concerned, that makes him more palatable company than most anyone else here.

Except Paul.

And that’s part of the problem right there. Daryl’s fallen hard and fast. It’s been all of a month and Daryl feels hip deep in Paul’s smile, the way he subtly steers Hilltop from behind the scenes, and the ridiculously graceful spin kick he used to take down a walker out in the woods that almost gave Daryl a heart attack. What used to be a low, manageable flutter in Daryl’s stomach, almost pleasant, now feels like a hot coal. It’s not easy to ignore.

Paul’s inclination toward the tactile doesn’t help matters. Two days ago, he’d asked Daryl to show him how to shoot a crossbow and it had turned into something that belonged on a damn soap opera. 

Daryl had set up some cans as targets and taught Paul how to load the crossbow. Paul hadn’t even hesitated at the 150-pound draw weight, muscles flexing beneath his shirt.

Daryl was about to step away, show Paul how to aim by mimic, but suddenly Paul’s back was snug against Daryl’s chest. He pulled Daryl’s arms up to bracket him, their hands overlapping on the grip, and said, “Like this?”

Daryl’s voice box made a sound he hadn’t heard since he was thirteen. “Y- Yeah,” he said, into the shell of Paul’s ear, because that’s how close they were. “That’s real good.”

Paul’s shot missed the mark by a mile but his form had been perfect. “I think I might need a few more lessons,” he said and Daryl had grunted an affirmative and run away.

Daryl feels a flush run through him just thinking of it.

Jerry, at least, hasn’t noticed Daryl’s momentary loss of attention. “You homesick, man?” he asks, brown eyes sympathetic. 

Daryl makes a noncommittal sound. 

“I was super homesick when I first came here,” Jerry says. “Left all my friends behind, the king, my job. But everybody here was nice and Crystal, man, _Crystal._ ” He gives a lovesick sigh. “I got used to it and hey, it’s not like we’re not allowed to visit home. I go back to the Kingdom for _all_ the holidays: Solstice and Memorium and— oh, Alliance Day is coming up! You and Jesus should totally come to the Kingdom for that.”

“What’s Alliance Day?” Daryl asks. He thinks maybe they’ll celebrate Christmas in Alexandria this year, if things are going well. Hasn’t been much time for holidays before. 

“It’s Crystal and my anniversary,” Jerry says. “When Hilltop and the Kingdom finalized our alliance. Your group could totally declare your and Jesus’ anniversary Second Alliance Day and then you could always go home for that!”

Daryl tilts his head, considering. He could run it by Maggie. She’d love to fight Gregory for something like that. “Thanks, man,” Daryl says.

“Cool,” Jerry grins. “See you at dinner!”

When Daryl gets back to the trailer, Paul is working on fixing a fishing reel in the common space. He gives Daryl a brief smile and Daryl nods back. He takes out his knife and some sturdy sticks he’s been planning to make into crossbow bolts. It’s a comfortable quiet and Daryl’s a little peeved when someone knocks on the door about twenty minutes later.

“What?” Daryl asks, less than gracious, as he swings the door out.

Doc Carson gives an apologetic grin. “Sorry, I can come back later if I’m interrupting you.”

Daryl feels like a dick. “Naw,” he says, “C’mon in.” The doc’s good people and it’s always best to be on friendly terms with someone who can stitch you up.

Carson is one of Paul’s better friends here so Daryl’s surprised when what Carson says is, “I was wondering if I could interview you, Daryl. I’m surveying everyone on their experiences when the change happened.”

“All right,” Daryl says hesitantly. He glances over at Paul.

Carson catches it. “We could talk in my trailer if you prefer.”

Daryl almost laughs at the idea of doctor-patient confidentiality. Privacy is one of the things people have mostly lost in the new world. Daryl doesn’t mind if Paul hears what he’s got to say. “Here’s fine,” he tells Carson, waving him down into a seat.

“I’m trying to understand if it started differently in places, if people that didn’t turn had anything in common. It’s not much,” Carson says sadly, flipping open a notebook, “but I figure it’s better than nothing. Someone ought to try.”

Daryl snorts. “Doin’ a sight better than the CDC.” 

“Excuse me?” Carson says.

“We went there,” Daryl explains, remembering the locked down building and the way it imploded. “Before we came north. Rick and Glenn and Carol and me. Carl, too. Some others that didn’t make it this far. We thought maybe they were gonna find some kind of cure.” It feels odd, remembering back to when they thought this might have a fix. A few months of hell and then everybody could get some kind of shot and things would go back to how they were: stocked grocery shelves and clear roads and no more things that were once people wandering around trying to eat you.

“Did they?” Carson asks. He doesn’t look particularly hopeful which, yeah, Daryl would’ve led with that.

“Didn’t know shit,” Daryl says, shaking his head. “Most all the scientists ran or killed themselves. Last guy there, he told us they didn’t know if it was bacteria or virus or what, just that we were all infected. Then he blew the whole building to kingdom come. Almost took us with it.”

Carson looks bleak. “How about we start with your family.”

Paul is pretending to be engrossed in fixing the fishing reel but Daryl can tell he’s listening to every word. It’s easier this way somehow, to tell Paul things by proxy. Daryl doesn’t have to look at the compassion he knows he’d see in Paul’s eyes when he says, “Had a brother at the start of things.” 

Paul drops the spool and catches it before it can bounce twice. Daryl pretends not to notice. 

Carson nods, encouraging more details. 

“Blood, I mean,” Daryl says. “Not like how Rick’s my brother now. Merle were twelve years older than me. Tough son of a bitch. He didn’t turn at the beginning like most people. We almost made it to Atlanta before before the government bombed the shit out of it. That’s where we met a lot of the group. Some of the group,” Daryl amends, thinking about how many people from the original Atlanta group they’ve lost now compared to how many of them are left. 

“May I ask what happened to Merle?” Carson says carefully.

Daryl doesn’t really want to tell the whole sordid story. Rick cuffing Merle to the roof and leaving him for dead doesn’t shed a kind light. And Merle certainly weren’t no shinin’ example of civility. “Got separated for a bit,” Daryl abbreviates. “He fell in with some bad people. Tried to make things right at the end. They killed him for it.” He doesn’t say how he had to put Merle down for good. Maybe he’ll tell Paul that some day, but Carson doesn’t need to know.

“I’m sorry,” Carson says, and Daryl nods, ready to move on.

He tells Carson about Rick and Lori and Carl, about Carol and Sophia, Andrea and Amy, Hershel and Maggie and Beth, Sasha and Tyrese. Lots of families and siblings had made it through the start of things only to get lost along the road. Daryl talks until his throat goes dry, until the back of it burns like the corners of his eyes.

Carson puts a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “I think that’s enough for today. Thank you, Daryl.” He lets himself out of the trailer and the silence hangs heavy in his wake.

Daryl feels tired to the bone. Like he’s just spent time prodding at scar tissue but also like he’s been drawing poison from a wound.

Paul comes over to sit beside him. There’s black grease on his hands from fixing the reel but he doesn’t hesitate to reach for Daryl’s hand.

Daryl stares at the way their fingers web together until his eyes drift closed.

-

It’s another month before Aaron comes back with more trade goods. This time Tara is in Rick’s place and she socks Daryl in the shoulder in greeting. “Got a present for you,” she says, handing him an AK-47.

“Thanks,” Daryl says. He’ll have Kal keep it on the gate. A deterrent if nothing else. 

Maggie and Glenn are back too and Maggie disappears into Barrington House. She comes back out looking pleased, which isn’t anyone’s usual reaction after having talked to Gregory. “He agreed,” she tells Glenn and then turns to Daryl. “We’re stayin’ here for awhile.”

“Really?” Daryl asks. He wouldn’t have though Deanna would have agreed to that with Maggie as her deputy, let alone Gregory.

“Maggie’s pregnant,” Glenn blurts, grinning ear to ear.

Daryl stares at Maggie. “You happy about it?” he checks, and when she nods, smiling, he spins her around and hugs her.

“Hilltop’s got Doctor Carson,” Maggie explains. “And the food situation is better here. It’ll take some strain off Alexandria having two less mouths to feed.”

“Three,” Glenn says.

“Three,” Maggie says, rolling her eyes.

When they tell Paul, he grins almost as wide as Glenn. “You can have one of the rooms up at Barrington. And I saw a baby store on one of my last runs. We’ll go get you formula, crib, clothes, the works.”

“Thank you,” Maggie says, kissing him on the cheek. 

Glenn hangs back with Daryl as they climb up the slope to Barrington. “Can you stay and look after Maggie?” he asks. “I know it’s safe here but—”

They both know that nowhere is really safe anymore. “Yeah,” Daryl says. He’d rather go on the run but Glenn’s the best scavenger they have and he deserves the chance to shop for his own kid. Or what passes for shopping now anyhow. Picking between two things instead of two hundred and possibly running like hell.

“You—,” Daryl clears his throat. “You look after Paul for me?”

“Will I— I mean, sure, of course,” Glenn says. He tilts his head and considers Daryl for a second, like he’s trying to figure out exactly what Daryl means. 

Daryl doesn’t mean anything more than what he’s said. Just wants Paul and Glenn both comin’ back in one piece. 

Daryl and Maggie see Paul and Glenn off by the gate the next morning with the sun low on the horizon. Paul said they should be able to make it home before sundown if they left early. 

Maggie and Glenn have their foreheads leant together whispering.

“Be careful?” Daryl says to Paul, not sure what he’s allowed. He’d like to hold Paul’s hands for a second or give him a hug. Something more than words. That’s never been Daryl’s strong suit.

“Of course,” Paul says. He steps toward Daryl a little hesitantly, looking at him with is-this-okay eyes, before his arms go around Daryl chest, his head resting at the junction of Daryl’s neck. Daryl loops his arms around Paul’s waist and tries to breathe. When Paul lets go to climb into the car with Glenn, Daryl feels bereft in a way he doesn’t think he’s entitled to.

Maggie tucks her arm through Daryl’s as they watch the car drive out the gates. “They’re going to bring back a hundred stuffed animals and no diapers aren’t they?” she says, smiling helplessly despite her long-suffering tone.

“Oh yeah, no question,” Daryl says.

“Come sit with me for a while,” Maggie says, steering them away from the walls. They get breakfast from the kitchen and Aaron and Tara drift over to them.

“Everyone okay back in Alexandria?” Daryl asks. “Judith? Eric? Carol?” 

Daryl catches the slight flinch that runs around the group at Carol’s name and goes immediately on alert. “Something wrong with Carol?”

“She’s fine,” Tara says. “There was an…incident with a small group that got over the walls but she’s all right.”

There’s something evasive about the way Tara says it but Daryl trusts her enough to let it go for now. Sometimes there’s things people have to tell for themselves. Daryl understands that.

Tara changes the subject to wax poetic about the new doctor for a while and then they all break apart to their daily tasks. Daryl goes with Aaron to the gardens to help sort out the crop that’ll be going back to Alexandria.

“Eric’ll be pleased,” Aaron says, bundling tomatoes into a makeshift cloth sack. “We’ve run out of spaghetti sauce.”

Daryl smiles faintly.

“Are you okay here? You seem—” Aaron stops, grasping. Daryl doesn’t know what word he needs either. It’s not unhappy, not withdrawn or lonely or pained. Resigned, maybe. A marriage of convenience certainly isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to them in this new world. Not by far. 

Aaron abandons his search for an adjective. “Are you okay?”

“M’ fine,” Daryl says, and he means it. He’ll get over this ache of a thing he has for Paul. And even if he can’t, it doesn’t hurt in a way that’s fatal.

“All right,” Aaron says, looking unconvinced.

Daryl pats him on the shoulder and puts a few more tomatoes in the sack for Eric. “Here,” he says, leading Aaron over to the herb planters. “We got cilantro and shit too.”

In the afternoon, Daryl offers to take Craig’s shift guarding the wall. Craig shares a less than subtle look with Eduardo. “Thanks, man,” he says, although it’s obvious he’s the one doing Daryl the favor.

Daryl keeps his eyes on the road until he hears the faint buzz of an engine and the old Toyota comes into view. Relief washes over him like a wave.

Glenn pulls in through the gates and Paul jumps out the passenger side. He smiles when he sees Daryl waiting. His hand makes an odd abortive movement toward his jacket pocket before jerking back up to the strap of the bag over his shoulder. “We got enough for six months at least,” Paul says. “I’m going to take this up to Maggie and Glenn’s room.”

Daryl looks at Glenn as Paul climbs the hill to Barrington, interested to hear how things went. You get to know people pretty quick on a run.

Glenn nods his head after Paul. “He’s a good scavenger,” he says, which is high praise coming from Glenn who’s basically the scavenger virtuoso of the apocalypse. “I don’t know if that makes him good husband material.”

“Maggie seems to like _you_ all right,” Daryl says.

Glenn flushes. He’s still flustered any time someone brings up that Maggie is his wife, like he’ll never quite believe his luck. Daryl would probably feel the same way about Paul if Paul had married him of his own free choice.

“Well, Jesus seems to like _you_ all right,” Glenn echoes. “He asked me a lot of questions about you.”

“What kinda questions?” Daryl asks. He’s glad Glenn’s the type of person to see the best in people. He’ll have given Paul Daryl’s highlight reel and not the laundry list of his mistakes. 

Glenn shrugs. “He wanted to know things you like. Your hobbies, your birthday, favorite color.” 

It’s not what Daryl expected. He wonders if Glenn even knows all those things about him to be telling. “You really think he likes me okay?” Paul is unfailingly kind, but that’s not the same thing.

Glenn twists his wedding ring on his finger. “I think he likes you more than okay.”

Daryl tries not to take too much heart from that. He bumps his shoulder against Glenn’s and reaches into the trunk of the car to help unload. “This is cute as fuck,” he says, holding up a tiny black and white blanket with a plush cow sewn onto one corner. 

“Right?” Glenn says, face bright. “Hold on, you need to see this onesie I found.”

It hits Daryl later that night, after he’s carted twenty pounds of formula, a dozen packs of tiny socks, and a crib with a mobile of the solar system up to Glenn and Maggie’s room in Barrington, that Glenn had called Paul Jesus. If Paul’s considering Glenn enough of a friend to use the nickname, he must think of Daryl that way too by now.

“Oh,” Paul says, when Daryl asks. “Sure. You can if you want to.” But he doesn’t look like it’s something _he_ wants Daryl to do. Daryl feels stung.

Something of it must show on his face.

“No, it’s— I like that you call me Paul,” Paul explains. “Nobody else does.”

Daryl hadn’t thought of it like that. That he’s included in something singular rather than excluded from something universal. “A’right, _Paul_ ,” Daryl says, to see him grin.

Paul does grin and he’s fucking gorgeous. _Fuck,_ Daryl thinks. He’s not getting over this.

-

Winter rolls in. 

It’s cold as a witch’s tit outside and there’s a white dusting of genuine snow like Daryl’s never seen before. The last trade between Hilltop and Alexandria had been milk and preserves for blankets. Aaron and Rosita drove over a car packed with fuzzy throw blankets and sheets and duvets raided from linen closets. It’d looked like one of those cars Daryl used to see on the highway sometimes before everything ended, parents carting kids off to college.

Most of the people at the Hilltop who hadn’t already lived in Barrington move there, where the fireplaces are always roaring. Daryl doesn’t like the way the smoke curling up into the sky makes them easy to see from miles away but it’s better than everyone freezing to death.

Daryl and Paul are some of the few hold outs, still ensconced in their trailer to escape the crowding. Paul had mentioned it reminded of him of growing up in the group home and after that, nothing could have budged Daryl. He wasn’t keen on crowds himself anyhow.

Despite huddling beneath dozens of mismatched blankets, Daryl can feel the chill down to his bones. His breath hangs white in the air. It’s Daryl’s night on the bench seat and even though he’s exhausted from the way his body constantly shivers, he can’t sleep for the cold. The wind is whistling like a freight train outside. 

In the other room, Paul has been tossing and turning too. There’s a rustle of blankets and then the soft fall of Paul’s footsteps. 

“Daryl,” Paul whispers, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says, sitting up. 

Paul is wrapped like a burrito in a dark green duvet, the back corners dragging on the floor behind him. “It’s freezing,” he says, around chattering teeth. “Do you want to come sleep in the bed with me?”

Daryl’s brain is too cold to think of why that’s not a great idea. “Yeah,” he says. “If you don’ mind.”

Paul’s hand reaches out from the depths of the duvet and tugs Daryl toward the bed. They fall back into it together and shift so they now have double the blankets on top of them and are huddled in a tiny, dark space beneath them, sharing body heat and breathing the same air. Paul curls around Daryl’s back like a comma.

Daryl feels suddenly hot all over.

Living with Paul hasn’t been easy on Daryl’s heart, or his dick either. There’s no dang privacy in the whole Hilltop and even when Daryl goes out to hunt, Paul almost always tags along. Daryl’s taken to quick, furtive jerk off sessions in the shower. Carol would laugh to see how clean he is.

Paul’s hand reaches over Daryl’s hip to rest low on Daryl’s belly, his thumb stroking restlessly along the waistband of Daryl’s sweatpants. “Daryl,” he says, breath a soft puff of warm air in Daryl’s ear. “Is this okay? Can I—?”

Daryl finds saying no to Paul about anything incredibly hard and also he’s just incredibly hard. “Yeah,” he says, and, “ _Please._ ” 

When Paul puts a gentle hand around his dick, Daryl makes a noise like a wounded animal.

Paul makes a soothing sound but then his wrist _twists_ and Daryl’s whole body jerks. He barely remembers anything after that, just the constant tight slide and building pressure. Daryl thinks he might have blacked out for a second when he came.

When he comes back to himself, Paul is breathing harshly and rutting against his hip. “Shit, sorry, let me,” Daryl says but Paul shakes his head and pants out, “It’s okay, I’m— ah!” His body goes tight as a bowstring.

Daryl thinks he feels Paul’s lips ghost briefly across the back of his neck but he can’t be sure. 

He’s warm when he finally falls asleep.

-

Daryl wakes up alone.

There’s a lumpy muffin on the nightstand by his head. Daryl’s not sure what that means. The post-apocalypse version of an ‘I had somewhere to be but I’m not sorry we fucked’ note? Or maybe he’s just reading too much into things. Paul brought him breakfast.

Daryl grabs the muffin and takes a bite.

He wonders what this makes them, if it changes anything. Married with benefits? Ain’t married supposed to be like friends with benefits anyhow? He should ask Maggie and Glenn. They make things looks smooth as silk. 

But Daryl saw Rick and Lori too. His parents. Merle and Savannah. It ain’t always easy.

Daryl was just ten when Merle got married, but he hadn’t been no dang ring bearer. Merle had gotten Daryl a passable jacket at the Goodwill and had Daryl stand two steps up, shoulder height, beside him as his Best Man. They’d had better times before everything went sour. 

Daryl’s whole life has been a series of collapses. As far as he’s concerned, this zombie shit is just the latest in a long line. He can see the next one coming a hundred miles away too. Paul with a bite mark on his shoulder or a bullet in his chest. 

Daryl’s heart throbs painfully. He gets up and starts the day.

-

There’s a thaw in what most people agree is probably January. 

“Daryl!” Jerry yells. “Pack your stuff! We’re going to the Kingdom for Alliance Day!”

“Are we?” Daryl asks Paul. He remembers Jerry mentioning it a few months back.

“I’m in,” Paul shrugs. “Last year was a good time. Ezekiel knows how to throw a party.”

Daryl’s met a few people from the Kingdom aside from Jerry, come for trading. Alvaro, whose job is similar to Aaron’s, and Colton and Benjamin. Their body armor looks like they’re going to play laser tag, and for all their training Daryl can tell they haven’t really been tested, but they seem like good enough people.

Daryl will admit he’s a little curious about their mysterious ‘king’. It ought to sound ridiculous, but they all say King Ezekiel with a kind of reverence. Also, Paul has made some frankly improbable claims about him having a tiger.

Daryl packs a bag.

Jerry somehow drives the same way he does almost everything else, with a cheerful abandon. They speed down the cleared roads with pop music playing on the radio low enough that it doesn’t attract any walkers. Crystal sings along in a clear, steady voice that reminds Daryl sharply of Beth.

In the back seat, Daryl is holding a pie from Mrs. Maitlin in his lap. Sometime into the trip, Paul reached across the middle seat to put his hand on top of Daryl’s and so far Daryl has managed not to flinch or tremble or sweat. It’s about as close as they’ve been since sharing a bed, which hasn’t been repeated. They haven’t talked about it.

It takes about an hour to reach the Kingdom. The gates aren’t gold, but they’re high and sturdy and there are no less than three guards stationed on them which Daryl approves of. 

Jerry rolls down the window and grins. “Yo, Henry! We’re here!”

“Happy Alliance Day!” one of the guards yells back, motioning for the others to open the gates.

People crowd around the car to hug Jerry and Crystal and look at Daryl curiously. A couple of them recognize Paul and clap him on the shoulder, pulling him over to chat. Then everyone parts like the goddamn Red Sea as a man with dark skin and greying dreadlocks steps forward. King Ezekiel.

“Jerry!” the king booms fondly, reaching out to pull Jerry into a hug. Ezekiel’s voice is jovial and over-projected, like an actor playing to an amphitheater, but there’s something genuine to him too. Despite his title, Ezekiel doesn’t exude the kind of pomposity Gregory does. The people of the community look at him as much with love as with awe.

Daryl decides Ezekiel’s probably all right. On a trial basis at least. 

There’s a woman behind the king and Daryl’s heart misses a beat. “Carol?” Daryl says. He’d thought she was safe and sound back at Alexandria. This must be what Tara and everyone was being so squirrely about.

“Daryl?” she says, sounding just as surprised. She hugs him tight and Daryl lifts her up from the ground a little to make her laugh. “What are you doing here?”

“Got invited to a party,” Daryl says. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“You came to a party you were invited to?” Carol presses.

Daryl scuffs his boot against the ground. “Well, Paul wanted to come.”

“Paul?” Carol asks and Daryl wonders how long she’s been here that she doesn’t know. “I thought Maggie was going to get you out of that ridiculous marriage arrangement.”

“Didn’t really want to be got out of it,” Daryl admits, because this is Carol. They’ve always seen each other clear. He remembers, back on the farm, how she’d said to him _you’re every bit as good as them_ and he’d turned away and tried to hide how that meant everything to him. 

Carol smiles, soft, and tugs at the ends of Daryl’s newly short hair. “Well, Paul must be something. Look at you all clean and trimmed.”

Daryl ducks away from her hands. When Daryl asked around Hilltop about getting his hair cut somehow that wasn’t himself pointing his hunting knife in the wrong direction, everyone sent him Crystal’s way. 

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding those cheekbones,” she’d said when she was done. “Make sure Jesus isn’t holding something sharp when he sees you.”

“Is that him?” Carol asks, somehow indicating Paul without moving any part of her. “The one that looks like he wants to knife me?”

Daryl looks over at Paul. An expression that might almost be jealousy rests on Paul’s face but it disappears into curiosity almost immediately. It might’ve just been a shadow. Daryl scoffs. “Man wouldn’t hurt a fly,” he tells Carol. “Can fight like the devil but wouldn’t hurt nobody living.”

“Mmhmm,” Carol hums, clearly unconvinced.

Daryl waves Paul over and Paul breaks away from his welcomers immediately. When he reaches them, his face is oddly set, not the smile Daryl’s gotten used to. Daryl feels off-balance.

“This is Carol,” he tells Paul. “She’s my best friend.”

“Oh,” Paul says. His shoulders relax slightly and he gives his most winning smile. “Nice to meet you, Carol. I’m Paul. Daryl’s…”

“Husband,” Daryl finishes for him after a few seconds, a little hurt by how long Paul let the sentence hang. They may not go about marriage traditionally but they took vows and all that shit. Husband ain’t a dirty word.

“Daryl’s husband,” Paul repeats. There’s something like relief in his voice and Daryl feels mollified. Some kind of undercurrent is happening here that he’s not quite getting, but Carol looks amused and Paul is smiling properly now so things are probably all right.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Paul,” Carol says.

There’s a genuine feast and then Daryl loses track of Paul for a few hours when he’s introduced to Dianne and the Kingdom’s archery range. Daryl prefers the crossbow but he still misses his old recurve sometimes.

Paul finds them there later, having an impromptu and closely matched shooting contest. Paul’s cheeks are flushed and his usually graceful, loping stride is absent. 

“Are you drunk?” Daryl asks, surprised. Like most anything else now, alcohol is at a premium, but they do have a couple bottles of good scotch and vodka at the Hilltop that get brought out occasionally. Daryl’s never seen Paul touch them.

Paul pinches his pointer finger and thumb close together. “Just a little tipsy. Nabila makes really good grape wine.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Dianne says. It’s as many words as she’s said to Daryl since they were introduced. A kindred spirit. But he’d still rather talk to Paul. He nods his goodbye.

“You wanna sit for a minute?” Daryl asks, hanging his bow on a peg and dropping down on one of the wooden benches that line the grounds.

Paul plunks down beside him, fingers picking restlessly at his pockets. Daryl thinks he sees a flash of something gold in Paul’s hand but it’s gone a second later, a trick of light. “I like you a lot, Daryl,” Paul says.

Daryl stares at him, unsure how to respond. It’s a lead up that could go a lot of different ways. _I like you a lot, but..._

Paul looks back at him, his gaze somehow wretched. “God, you must think I’m such an idiot.”

“I don’t understand,” Daryl says, honest. People have to tell Daryl things flat out sometimes, about what they mean. He didn’t grow up with the same frame of reference, the same set of rules.

“I want you to marry me,” Paul says. 

“I did,” Daryl says, mystified. 

“No, I know,” Paul says. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, his hair a curtain across his expression. “Nevermind.” 

Paul clearly wants to say something else, but Daryl knows what it feels like, that sudden loss of courage. He leaves it be. 

“You wanna show me where that grape wine is?” Daryl asks and after that the evening winds away from him, soft and slow. Everyone gathers around a bonfire in the central square and Daryl feels lulled by the warmth, the hypnotizing red-orange flicker of the flames.

-

Daryl wakes up slower than he’s used to. In the sky, the stars have come out in full. Orion is overhead. The perspective is skewed and it takes Daryl a second to figure out why. His head has fallen to rest on Paul’s shoulder.

Daryl didn’t mean to make this a habit. “Sorry,” he says, getting himself upright and stretching out his shoulders. 

“It’s fine,” Paul says, quiet, like he really hadn’t minded. His arm is around Daryl’s waist, supporting him.

Daryl catches Jerry’s eye across the banked fire. Daryl wonders if it’s obvious in his face, his body language, his everything, how he feels about Paul. Jerry grins at him and Daryl thinks, _yeah, he knows._ And if Jerry knows then Glenn knows. If Glenn knows, Maggie’s known for weeks, months even, since the beginning.

Daryl wonders if Paul knows. 

He doesn’t think Paul would hold it against him. A hopeless, unrequited crush. Paul would be kind about it. Has probably been _being_ kind about it. Maybe too kind.

But sometimes Paul looks at him and Daryl thinks _maybe._ Maybe Paul feels something too.

Daryl still doesn’t want to talk about it but he’s starting to think he needs some advice. Rick would useless even if he were here, Daryl decides. Apparently he and Michonne _still_ aren’t together. Aaron might be best, but he won’t be at Hilltop again for weeks.

“Maggie jumped me in a pharmacy,” Glenn says helplessly.

_Okay,_ Daryl thinks, _but then she_ kept _you. How’d you do it?_

“And then what happened?” he prompts. Paul hadn’t held Daryl’s hand on the car trip back from the Kingdom. Like practically everything else involving Paul, Daryl doesn’t know what the hell that means.

“Then she told me it was a one time thing and she wasn’t even sure if she liked me,” Glenn says.

Obviously untrue considering, Daryl thinks. It doesn’t sound so different than what Paul seems to be doing, albeit more gently. He made the first move, pulled Daryl in, and then took a step back. Out of what? Regret? Fear? Daryl can’t think of any positive emotion that might have resulted in that reaction.

Maggie bumps the door open with her hip, a laundry basket balanced at her other side. Daryl shuts up quick.

Maggie raises an eyebrow. “What are you boys talkin’ about?”

“Nothing!” Glenn says. “Just about Jesus and how Daryl— ow!” 

Daryl flexes his foot in his boot. Glenn has some bony-ass shins.

Maggie gives them an unimpressed look. “You fell in love with your husband, Daryl,” she says plainly. “Ain’t a crime. If it were, I doubt you’d be the only one guilty.”

Daryl narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed t’ mean?”

“It means, go talk to your husband instead of mine,” Maggie says, and shoves Daryl out the door.

-

Daryl finds Paul sitting on the steps outside their trailer. It’s a common sight by now but this feels like a now or never moment. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure,” Paul says. He stands up so they’re on even footing.

“I wanna make you happy,” Daryl says, simple. The problem is he doesn’t know what that looks like for Paul, whether Daryl needs to take a step closer or a step back.

“You do make me happy,” Paul says. He’s looking at Daryl with wide, anxious eyes. Not exactly what Daryl was going for. 

Daryl’s throat feels tight. It’s hard to get the words out through the constriction. “I mean,” he tries again, “I want that ‘cause of how I feel about you. I—”

Paul kisses him. Daryl stumbles back against the trailer, surprised. Paul puts one hand on Daryl’s cheek and the other against the trailer behind his head and the press of his lips is unbearably tender.

“Is that what you meant?” Paul asks, a little breathless and a lot hopeful. There’s something vulnerable in the way he says it, but that’s Paul all over, always trying to meet Daryl halfway or more. “Is that how you feel about me?”

“Couldn’t let me say it?” Daryl says, mock-irritated. He opens his eyes, not sure when he closed them.

Paul grins. “Were you going to say something? Go ahead.”

“I love you,” Daryl says. He doesn’t mind saying it now, knowing that it’s reciprocated. Or something close anyhow. “For better or worse.”

Paul’s grin falls away to something more serious. He digs his hand into his pocket, a nervous tic Daryl’s seen dozens of times. This time Paul comes up with something in his palm. 

Daryl stares at the two gold rings. He remembers the flash of gold at the archery range in the Kingdom. _I want you to marry me,_ Paul had said, like that hadn’t already happened. For real, he must have meant.

“There was a jewellers beside the baby store,” Paul says. 

Daryl feels oddly dizzy. That run was months ago.

“I know it’s just a symbol,” Paul says, sliding one of the gold bands onto his ring finger. “But symbols are important, don’t you think?”

Daryl takes the second ring from Paul and slides it down his finger until it rests against his knuckles. The gold is warm from Paul’s skin.

Daryl has the right words this time. “I do,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are loved. I'm also smilebackwards on tumblr.


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